Spinning Wheels of Gold
by haruharu
Summary: Emma encounters Rumpelstiltskin! Emma took a step too far, and a thoughtless comment unleashes a nightmarish horror beyond imagination! Mr. Gold had held his tongue, but now she's gone too far, and in for much worse.


Original AU story I wrote about 2 years ago, now edited and re-released for the masses.

I hope you enjoy this tale of horror, lust, and the creatures behind our favorite fairy tales.

[]

Spinning Wheels of Gold

Pairing: Golden Swan (Rumpel/Emma)

Rating: M

Warnings: Violence, gore, graphic sexual scenes, subjugation, and domination.

Summary: Emma encounters Rumpelstiltskin! She took a step too far, and a thoughtless comment unleashes a nightmarish horror Emma could never have imagined. Mr. Gold had held his tongue, but now she's gone too far, and in for much worse.

[]

Ruby's Café was bustling that early Monday morning. All the locals who had rested their weary bones the previous weekend had awoken and risen to join the weekly laborers of the working class––As many of their neighbors did, repetitious and mundane as it was, and so it would be as the planet kept turning.

Emma and Henry were sitting in the back of the diner that morning, jabbering along about the details of _Operation: Cobra––_Emma more so listening as Henry spearheaded the conversation––and nurturing cups of steamed cocoa with helping heaps of cinnamon and chocolate shavings.

That day Henry had begged Emma to rescue him from solitary confinement, and consequential boredom, as Madam Mayor had left before the sun rose for another one of her _private_ conferences. Which considering her pervious relationship with Sheriff Graham, Emma was skeptical of the legitimacy of Regina's political agenda.

So reluctantly Emma agreed and retrieving Henry from his mansion–prison, brought him to one of the only places Emma could call a safe haven in this weird, little town: Granny's Diner.

Emma watched hard lines forming under Henry's eyes as he accounted his recent hypothesis on whatever storybook character he was talking about. In truth, Emma was not really listening at all; she was more worried about Henry's emotional state, than his state of mind. With Graham's death still fresh on everyone's nerves, the open wounds left by his departure had been infected and cauterized by Regina's acidic demeanor and _"get on with your life"_ approach to Henry's welfare.

Emma was worried. Henry was starting to take a turn for the worse, and she feared he would retreat into a dark corner of his mind not easily escapable. Emma knew––having been there before, herself––Fantasy worlds were an easy escape from reality.

Until now Henry's obsession had been troublesome, but managed. However, the death of Graham might be the dark turn Henry needed to collapse internally, and use fairytales as a crutch rather than an inspiration.

Although, neither feminine nor paternal she was, Emma Swan did worry about her son by birth. Looking back between the few weeks she'd spent in his company, she was glad to have been given the chance to know him. She feared how much time they had left together, and if Madam Mayor ever got her way, Emma would never get the chance to see Henry again––or risk a court-mandated restraining order in the process. So everyday spent with Henry was a blessing in itself, and she'd be damned if she allowed the twisted venality of this town to ruin his childhood innocence. She would bet her life on that.

"Emma, are you listening?"

The blonde looked up from her cocoa and into the perplexed eyes of her son. "You weren't listening, were you?" He deadpanned.

"Wait, what?" Emma blinked. "You were talking about uh… Little Miss Muffet, right?" At Henry's frown, Emma tried again. "The Pied Piper––The Little Mermaid––The Last Unicorn? Ah come on, help me out here!"

Henry sighed and shook his head. "I was saying that you need to be more careful; especially if we're going to continue _Operation: Cobra_ from here on out. Regina is bad news remember? And bad people play dirty, so we need to be extra careful whom we trust from now on. Remember, she has spies staked throughout this town, and we can't afford to spill any information we've gathered about the curse."

Emma gawked at her son. "I don't think she has spies––"

"She does!" Henry interjected. "She has eyes and ears everywhere! You have to be cautious, don't tell anyone about our meetings. You'll never know who's working for Regina, or not."

Emma was about to explain that he was overreacting, but Henry caught her free hand and gripped it with his own. Perplexed, mother looked at son and was surprised to see the determination behind those big brown eyes.

"I don't want to lose you too." Henry spoke. "Not after what happened to Graham. I can't lose you; I won't lose you! Not you, not my mother!"

Emma was struck dead in her seat, and if she wasn't already sitting down the blonde swore her knees would have buckled under the force of Henry's words. She saw tears prickling the wrinkles beside his eyes, and his cute little mouth was contorted in a miserable expression. She recognized that expression, it was the face of someone utterly desperate, and the finality in his voice sealed any confusion as to why. Henry was afraid of losing his mother, his _Birth Mother._

Emma sighed inwardly. She couldn't imagine the pain and heartbreak this kid had endured before tracking her down, but between the cold isolation from Regina, and his strange exclusion from the townsfolk, Henry didn't want to lose the last hope for happiness he had; didn't want to lose the only person who had taken notice of him, who truly ever _loved_ him.

Placing her other hand on top of his, Emma smiled down at her whimpering boy. "Hey kid, why so sad? This old cat has a few lives left in her, you needn't worry about that." She loathed herself for forcing Henry to endure so much torment, and swore right then to make sure he gained nothing but confidence and strength from Emma Swan, mother or not. It was the least she could do for the boy she abandoned.

The brown-eyed boy gave a snort and looked up at his mother. Emma laughed at his bemused state and grabbed a nearby napkin to wipe away the tears and snot. "Trust me Henry, if there's one thing I know in this bazaar world we live in, it's that Emma Swan is a tough old bitch, and it takes more than a few punches to knock her down."

Finished wiping, Emma smiled warmly at the boy's open–eyed gaze and gave his hair a good messing, before shoving cocoa in his face.

"Now drink that, and don't you dare be sad again… Oh, and don't tell your mom I used the word, "Bitch" in front of you."

Henry giggled and sipped his drink, Emma joining in on his laughter.

The bell chimed and the front door opened to reveal a sharp-dressed older man walking with a cane and a favored leg; limping with determination toward the diner's bar.

Emma and Henry turned in time to see Mr. Gold approaching Ruby with that trademark smirk he was infamous to brand in circumstances of legal authority.

Emma frowned as she watched Mr. Gold gesture something to Ruby, the dark-haired vixen paling in response. From their vantage point, neither Emma nor Henry could hear what was transpiring between the two, but the blonde had an idea of what the transgression was about. Emma reflected on the day she first arrived in Storybrooke, and how the Innkeeper, Ruby's grandmother, had difficulty paying Mr. Gold his rent. Now it seemed Mr. Gold had come to collect again.

"What do you think they're talking about?" Henry asked.

"I'm not sure." Emma began, studying the straight back of Gold's suit jacket. Despite having an obvious need for his cane, Mr. Gold was standing perfectly erect while conspiring with Ruby. Emma sometimes wondered if the limp was part of some grand performance, much like his little fireball stunt a week ago, and in fact the man could walk perfectly limber behind closed doors. "But I have a pretty good idea…"

"A real snake-in-the-grass, that man."

The disgust in his voice caused Emma to glance back at the hard line across Henry's face and the restrained frustration between curled fists on the table.

"You have a low opinion of Mr. Gold, don't you kid?"

"He's a snake! A dirty old man that delights on taking money from people less fortunate them him."

Emma shot Henry a look. "He also owns this town, if you remember. By consequence, that means he owns all the commercial establishments as well. Legally, they should pay rent."

"You don't understand! Mr. Gold knows Ruby and her Grandmother can't afford the rent, but Gold keeps demanding and raising it, regardless. He threatens lawyers and Legality when they don't pay up––Don't you see? That's the type of man he is, Emma!"

"So he's like every other blue-blooded aristocrat: A vampire, sucking the town dry by the month…"

"Don't be so sure of that." Henry warned. Emma shot her son a confused look. "Mr. Gold," Henry clarified. "Has been rumored to have made his fortune on the bloodied backs of military workers in the past. Some rumors say he was involved with espionage and sabotage too." Henry looked at his mother knowingly. "How do you think he got his limp?" Making a rifle gesture with his hands, he said, "Gunshot––Straight through the leg!"

Emma scoffed at her son's silliness. "Henry, you don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes I do!"

Emma sighed, shaking her head. "Henry, those are just rumors. Most likely he's a decrepit old man who bummed his leg in the bathtub." She laughed then. "They all do that, you know. You get old enough, and suddenly your bones aren't as strong as they used to be."

"My bones may be old, but my hearing is as sharp as ever!"

At the sound of a strong Scottish accent, Emma must have jumped three feet in the air. When she collected herself, she turned around and saw Mr. Gold's stormy–eyed gaze locked with her own––a deep-set scowl on his face.

Emma smiled awkwardly before turning back around and mouthing to Henry, "_He heard that?" _In response, Henry giggled and made a smile that never reached his eyes.

Mr. Gold swallowed bitterness in his throat before glancing back at Ruby with a smile on his face, ire seemingly hidden behind a mask of courtesy. "Now Miss Ruby, we've been over this. Rent is due on the 1st of the month, no exceptions." He chided, "Should I show leniencies with you, what example would I be setting for the remaining tenants?"

Ruby slapped the counter, imploring the older man. "But clientele has been slow this season! Just give us a little more time and we'll scrape something together!"

Mr. Gold exhaled and glanced momentarily at the basket of baked goods on the counter. Wrapped in plastic, the small treasure trove had been gathering dust as long as Mr. Gold had known this business. It patiently sat next to the register, but no one ever partook of its delicious confections.

"No Miss Ruby, I think not." Mr. Gold replied with a wry grin. "Either pay me in full by weeks end, or I'll return in _greater _caliber." The man's smile was deadly. "Don't force my hand, dearie."

Mr. Gold turned on his cane, and grasping one of Ruby's caramel toffees, dismissed the conversation without so much as a _"Goodbye._" Emma watched him retreat from behind furrowed brows, questioning the chilling silence that followed his waning shadow.

Henry rose from the booth, followed by Emma, and ran to the bar where a frozen Ruby stood in unsettling calm.

"Ruby, are you alright?" Emma asked.

The dark-haired waitress bent her head down and mumbled something in reply.

"What was that?"

Suddenly, Ruby was crying. "What am I going to do, Emma?" She asked, tears lining the corners of her eyes. Emma was quick to offer her a napkin. "Granny is still sick from the heart attack," she continued. "We don't have any money, between the medical bills and my––"

"Your what?" Emma pushed.

Ruby swallowed and looked away, busying herself with counting the till money. However, Emma saw past her shame, and placed a hand over Ruby's trembling one.

"Your what, Ruby?"

"My…" Ruby looked Emma in the eyes. "My lawsuit."

"You have a criminal record?" Emma asked in surprise.

"Yes," Ruby replied. "I have a history of violence. I've assaulted some powerful people, apparently."

"Apparently," Emma agreed. "No wonder I feel comfortable around you."

Emma tried to laugh, but the look on Ruby's face quickly soured her chuckles into a coughing fit. Her attempt at humor had fallen on death ears.

"It gets worse…" The vixen muttered. In response to Emma's questioning look, Ruby responded. "It's Mr. Gold, he's facilitating the Lawsuit."

"Excuse me?"

Ruby sighed and tucked a lock of dyed red hair behind a multiply pierced ear. "He's one of the men I assaulted." She reluctantly answered.

This time Emma did laugh. "_You _assaulted Mr. Gold?"

"It's not something I'm exactly proud of," Ruby began. "But he deserved it." There was venom dripping from those words.

"Hey, I believe it." Emma said. "I may not be in the practice of punching old men, but if I ever got the chance, it'd be him."

Ruby laughed and was joined by the silent giggles of Henry. "Seriously though," Emma continued. "I can't believe you got the jump on Mr. Gold––What the hell he'd do?"

"What _hasn't _he done?" Ruby spat. "Extortion, manipulation, harassment––He's eating caviar while we're surviving on scraps. He twists the dagger by threating eviction and imprisonment if we ever crossed him."

Ruby looked viscous. "Every month we face the black dragon of Mr. Gold's tyranny." Her nails were digging into the table's wooden surface now. "But not anymore. I was tired of facing his firebrand. So about 6 months ago, after he had thoroughly frightened my granny out of 15-Grand, I grabbed the suit jacket from his retreating back and slammed him into the oak wall."

"And you beat him." Emma said knowingly.

"Yes," She replied. "I punched him a few times in the face, and then once in the gut. But he," Ruby paused. "He just stood there and took it––Laughed even. That crooked smile glazed his battered face and made me want to punch him again."

"But you didn't"

"No," she admitted. "Instead Mr. Gold collected himself, and as if my assault had made little difference to his limp, walked out of granny's Inn without pause." Ruby hugged herself. "I can still remember his callous laughter drifting on the cold night air…"

"Typical." Emma muttered.

"So now we're paying substantial legal fees just to keep me out of prison, while Mr. Gold is laughing all the way to the bank." Ruby finished.

"Quite literally." Emma added.

There was a pregnant moment between the three, and it was Henry, who during the women's exchange had been silent, had cut the cord.

"We need to do something about this. Emma, you're the Sherriff now so… You can make Mr. Gold drop the lawsuit, right?"

"Kid, it don' work that way." The blonde replied. "But I can interrogate the guy to death, if that'll help?"

"No, please!" Ruby spoke up. "Mr. Gold, he's too sly. He'd know you were speaking on my behalf, and I can't risk any more black marks against my record."

"Black marks?" Emma repeated. "What kind of power does this man have?"

This time both Ruby and Henry answered in unison, "You have no idea…"

[]

The sun was setting when Emma opened the door to "Mr. Gold: Pawnbroker," and the bleeding glow behind her blonde tendrils gave her an ethereal, albeit angelic appearance. That was not the impression she was trying to impose.

"Mr. Gold, you in here?"

"Right here, Miss Swan."

Emma saw him leering at her from behind the display case of some random, antique junk he was polishing. "Always a pleasure." He greeted.

"Sorry if I don't share your chipper disposition, old man." Emma muttered, slamming the door behind her.

Mr. Gold grimaced at the jarring sound of his slay bell as it echoed into the small space. "Gee, that's the second time you've rang my little bell, love. I hope you don't intend to abuse it."

"Oh I'll ring your little bell…" Emma muttered.

"What was that, my dear?" Mr. Gold asked from behind the display glass.

"Nothing, listen Gold–"

"Mr. Gold, please." The man interrupted. "Formalities are the seams in which sole and society are mended, and they do matter of some importance to me, Miss Swan."

Emma sighed in frustration. "Look old man, I don't have the patience to deal with your bullshit tonight!"

In response to her comment, Mr. Gold stopped his polishing and locked eyes with Emma––his black eyes glazed over with the faintest glimmer of impatience from within. "I had thought we had come to agreement on _tolerance_, my dear."

"Yeah, well that was before I heard what you've been doing to Ruby and her Grandmother!"

"Oh?" Raising an eyebrow, Mr. Gold indulged. "And what transgressions have a defiled the _fair–maiden_ of the diner with, hmm?"

"Why you little worm!" Emma spat. "You're actually going to stand there and play dumb with me? Extortion, Provocation, Legal threats––Do any of these things remind you of anyone?"

The man in question sighed, and shelving his cleaning cloth he gestured for Emma to follow. "So you say, Miss Swan––But I believe I'm beginning to catch on to the problem here, so won't you join me in my private office, where we can better _understand _each other, hmm?"

"Private office?" She repeated. "Isn't it just a messy old work room that smells like livestock?"

Again Mr. Gold flashed her that charming smile of his and parted the curtain for her to pass by. "Tinkering is just one of many jobs that I utilize this studio for, Miss Swan."

From the sound of his voice, Emma didn't want to know what the other uses were. Man, why was he such a creeper? Did he _try_ to give her the willies?

The room hadn't changed much from the few times she'd seen it. Same old mess half–splayed on the floor, and half–cluttering the table and shelves. Same old musty couch in the corner, and same old armchair adjacent to it.

Emma decided she'd feel more comfortable with the chair rather than the couch. Although she doubted Mr. Gold ever saw any _action _back here, she didn't want to chance sitting on the more obvious furniture in question.

Sitting herself in the old leather armchair, Emma caught a glimmer of something on the workbench. She turned to see a bronze wolf statue sitting in static radiance. Squinting her eyes, she could make out the faintest aspect of lettering marring the animal's body, but the corrosive rust that covered the piece was far too obstructing to make out any of the obscure symbols. She was about to rise and inspect it further, but Mr. Gold had walked in and froze her butt to the leather cushion, beneath it.

"I hope you weren't bored." He said as he eased himself into the couch. "I had to close shop and tally the revenue for the day. Shoppe duties, you understand, eh?"

"Yeah, no problem…" Emma answered automatically. Still distracted by the bronze wolf, and realizing her attention was elsewhere, Mr. Gold followed her gaze to the source. With a knowing smile he commented on the piece that had her so enthralled.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"What?" Emma glanced back in confusion.

"The bronze wolf, it's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Oh right," she agreed. "Say, what's that written on its body?"

That knowing smile quickly wilted into a contemplative frown. "I don't know, I received that piece only this morn'." He replied. "I was attempting to restore the statue earlier, but got abstracted by more _immediate_ responsibilities."

"Let me guess," Emma began. "You're not the type to just cut loose and have fun, are ya?"

"You'd be surprised, Miss Swan." He said, flashing her a devilish smirk. "But that is not the reason you've come to me this evening with guns-ah-blazing, hmm?"

"Uh, yeah…" Emma said as she tried to hide the growing blush from Mr. Gold catching her unprepared. Unfortunately, the old snake's smile grew more slithering too, so with a groan she forced her mind to articulate the chaotic miasma of insults and damnations she wanted to throw his way––into a singular flow of terse words.

"You know I'm armed, right?"

Mr. Gold sighed and fingered the cane between his legs. "Miss Swan, as flattering as it is that you grace me with your lovely appearance everyday, I do have other responsibilities to attend, so if you would, _'cut to the chase,'_ as you Americans might say, I would appreciate the reprieve."

"_You Americans?" _Emma repeated. "What, you're not an American now?"

"Legally, yes." Gold corrected. "But my nationality is loyal only to Olde–Bonny Scotland, I'm afraid." Flashing another smile, he added, "I do hope that doesn't disappoint."

Emma shot another disfigured look of revulsion his way. Disappoint? She couldn't be happier, and if she ever got her way, the state would find a reason to deport his ass back to Haggis–Country.

"Look Gold," Emma spoke up. "I didn't come here to share pleasantries with you. I know what you did to ruby––A lawsuit, really? What kind of megalomaniac are you!"

There was a slight twitch in his jaw, before Mr. Gold's lip up–turned. "We had an agreement, Ruby and I," He began. "I provide security for her Grandmother, and Ruby in turn, provides me a punctual financial loyalty. However, the day that little _Shewolf _betrayed me with a knife to my back, well… Like you said, I am an _old man _and I have my own securities."

"It was a punch to the face, I heard." She remarked. "And what do you mean by _providing security_ for Ruby's Grandmother?"

"You haven't heard?" Mr. Gold breathed out a chilling cackle, something almost inhuman in the correct light. "Dear, sweet, old Granny Smith had befallen heart failure as of late. And not one month before you arrived, she had collapsed with Cardiac Arrest."

"She had a Heart Attack?"

"Correct," Gold clarified. "And Ruby had played the part of the _damsel in distress, _beautifully." In response, Emma rolled her eyes, but Mr. Gold continued. "And swayed by the code of gentility to which I hold myself, I had offered her my service as benefactor in exchange for her… Permanent Obedience."

"Like tethering a dog to a stake…" Emma muttered, chin in hand. In response, Mr. Gold added something about it being more like a wolf, but Emma was quick to dismiss his metaphysical BS. "And what's this shit about _benefactors _and _permanent obedience?" _Emma reminded."Thatdidn't last, did it? And it better not be what it sounds like!" Emma raised her fist to punctuate her threat.

Mr. Gold looked wounded. "You offend me, Miss Swan. I would never take indulgencies with a woman, and I had assumed I made an example of that from our own relationship." Emma gagged in her throat. "––As for my part with Miss Ruby's medical bills––"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Emma interrupted. "What the hell you just say––_Our _relationship?" She spat. "What kind of twisted delusion are you playing at, Gold? News flash: We have no relationship. I don't even like you, can barely stand you, and I certainly am not into older men." The disgust in her voice could curdle milk. "Oh, and even if I was into banging old geezers, it definitely wouldn't be one as slimy and slithering as yourself, Gold!"

"And as for Ruby," Emma continued, not missing a beat. "You better leave her and her Grandmother alone. I don't know what little perverse agreement you forced upon them, but it's ending today. You torment others while you sit on that stick-up-your-ass and twist in pleasure––It's disgusting!" she finished.

The older man's jaw was like a vice. His eyes downcast, Mr. Gold concentrated on the details of his cane as he contemplated the void between them. "I… See," he began. "So there's no hope for redemption, I assume." It wasn't a question. "I suppose it's appropriate––Damnation, sorrow, fidelity–– All tribunes of my subjugation, and yet never redemption. Ah, but there's the rub. Denied salvation, void of humanity… Yes, Once Upon a Time."

"What the hell are you talking about now?" Emma asked. "Why don't you stop speaking in metaphors, and make some goddamn since for a change!"

"It would be wise to consider who you insult, Emma love." Came Gold's chilling voice. He was still stooped over himself in contemplation, but Emma somehow knew he was just as attentive to her words, as he was his own. "My century–long patience is waning thin against the brawn of your own stupidity, my dear."

"You don't scare me, old man." Emma replied. "If I remember correctly, Ruby punched you in the face, Ashley maced you––Oh yeah, she told me." Emma rose from her chair. "––And I'm one snide quip away from kicking you in the balls. Your threats don't intimidate me, Mr. Gold. _Nothing_ does."

"Nothing…?" Came the hollow voice of her companion. Emma was about to turn around and storm out of the shop, when a dark certainty suddenly forced her back into her seat.

"SIT DOWN!"

The bellow was like a dark cloud that coated the room in a supernatural aura. The atmosphere was so thick, Emma had trouble swallowing as faint chills ran down her spine and the sudden appearance of goose flesh erupted behind her neck. "––And stay awhile, my dear." Mr. Gold's voice had turned from authoritatively demonic to patronizingly pleasurable in seconds––the slops in his mood holding Emma to a quivering edge.

The man before her slowly rose from his stupor and crossed the carpet toward her in silent yet deliberate steps. Gold's cane, which normally aiding in mobility, seemed more like an added novelty, rather than a needed crutch. His voice was firm when he spoke to her. "You called me a snake, a worm, a blood-sucking vampire––Yes, I heard." Gold paused and raised his head, obscuring his gaze behind dark bangs. "Well now, I wonder how _monstrous _I can be…"

In a flash of red and black, Emma was pinned to the couch with a tanned hand gripped firmly around her neck. Emma squirmed under the pressure, her eyes budging as she starred into the seething fire that was Mr. Gold's burning gaze.

"Someone needs to learn their place!" Gold said as he used the force of his grip around her neck to throw her to the floor. "––At my feet!"

Before Emma could gather herself, a large boot made contact with her scalp and forced her head back against the floorboards. She could hear Mr. Gold softly tittering to himself, mumbling incoherent words that whispered tendrils of fear deep within her stagnant confidence. The boot came down again and crushed her deeper into the wood, and with a loud crack Emma screamed out when she felt the broad end of Gold's cane slam against her leg.

The bone was broken! She could feel the vibrating pain carouse its way up her nervous system and leech into her paralyzed brain. She didn't know what to think, the pain hurt sp much!

"So you can't get away, love." Came Mr. Gold's now suddenly high-pitched cackle.

Grasping onto the last remnants of conscious instinct, Emma twisted under the boot and brought her good leg up under the man's crotch––Hard. Emma expected a yell, a scream––A whimper maybe, but there was no sound, no reflex of pain, and no reaction whatsoever! The man stood tall, and as Emma backed away and tried to direct herself toward the curtain. However, the wardrobe adjacent slid in front of her pathway, blocking her escape.

Emma was caught unaware by the phenomenon, but the prominent steps behind her told of an immanent danger at her heels, and she turned around to see a demon stooped in front of her.

It was supposed to be Mr. Gold, but the man in front of her––No, the _creature_ in front of her was no man––No human. While it had the shape and clothes of Mr. Gold, it's face was a sour greenish color and it's eyes––Oh the eyes! It's eyes were the hottest simmering coals she had ever seen on earth. Looking into his eyes, she saw no hope there, no life, just burning emptiness. Somehow, without admitting to herself, Emma knew those eyes were a window into Hell.

Grabbing her hair, and yanking her up to his ghastly face, Gold smiled a toothy grin and said, "What's wrong, my love. You wanted a monster…" Gold's fingers pressed into her scalp, and Emma realized it was the claws of a beast that was causing the intense pain. "Now you got one!"

Emma was thrown across the room, slamming into the opposite wall. The shelves broke under he weight, and several objects beneath her shattered. Her back slid down the wall, but the ground she rested on was damp, and it wasn't until a growing warmth up her legs, did she realize she was bleeding––And badly.

Emma was cast into a daze, the sudden blood loss, mixed with her own violent breathing, left her confused and drifting between the misery of awareness and the bliss of catalepsy. She would have loved to have passed out, but to her horror she heard the telltale sound of boots against hardwood and looked up in time to see the man she once knew as feeble and decrepit, transform into a fiendish beast of raw masculinity. A gust of sulfuric smoke obscured the body of Mr. Gold, and when the miasma disappeared, a creature of fantasy stood in his wake.

The man, or demon, wore leather. Everywhere, and in every direction, he wore leather––On his arms, legs, waist, and the tailored textile was stretched supplely along the sinew of his obvious musculature. Although the black spots in her vision and her throbbing black eye obscured the obvious detail of the garment, Emma could see the general concept of what the creature wore. It was a leather frock coat––Or what looked like half of one at least. The coat didn't reach his waist, but stopped at his pectorals instead. There was no under garment, and the leather coat was left open, exposing his rippled abdomen and a piercing in his right nipple of a hanging inverted cross. How appropriate, she thought. The leather was beautifully dark and gothic, with rolled cuffs and an elongated, regal collar. She could see the subtle sway of the coattail behind the feral stature of this monstrous man. His thighs were equally muscular and wrapped in leather so tight she feared it would rip from the slightest strain. His boots were high over-the-knee, and tied together at the seam by a long leather string––A beautiful beast, indeed.

The monster approached her, and with a black–clawed hand, gripped her chin and forced her eyes to stare into his.

"You will not disobey me again." It was not a question. Emma wanted to cry, for the first time in her life since her dark days in prison, she had felt the fear collect behind her eyes, and threaten to break between the lids. This man, this _monster, _was more terrifying than anything she could have imagined. His flesh was the scale's of a snake, and his teeth were the sharp points of a piranha––Yellowed from the flesh he rendered, no doubt.

Before she could suck in enough breath to scream, the monster smothered her lips with his sickly own. His lips felt like sandpaper! And Emma, try, as she might, could not keep him from slipping a slithering tongue into her mouth. She felt the disgusting alien lapse and coax her own tongue to join the dance, but her teeth made a better foreplay. Chomping down as hard as she could muster, her round molars made contact with his forked tongue, resulting in a nasty grunt, and followed by a clawed strike to her face. Emma's head slammed back against the wall, and she felt that familiar wetness again. The monster's black jagged nails held her supple flesh in place beneath his seething gaze. The monster licked the blood from his mouth, and smiled that same barracuda smile before saying, "You'll pay for that, bitch."

Emma was wrestled to the ground a second time. The demon forced her onto her stomach, ripping the jeans and underwear from her naked thighs. A sudden rush of air assailed her senses, and a heated blush marred her face as the delicate womanly area of her body was sinfully brandished to this creature's cruel intent.

However the monster did not claw at her flesh, nor gnaw at her volva, instead he lowered himself slowly and inhaled her scent, seemingly enjoying the sensation of their intimacy. Emma held her breath, waiting for the break in his concentration, when something caught her eye. A little more than a foot away laid a jagged piece of glass; ruined from when Emma had crashed into the storage shelves. It's lighting bolt–like shape whispered hopes of escape and freedom, and she intently listened as the monster behind her grasped her ass with it's claws and raised her hips for penetration.

She felt its penis outside her vaginal walls. It was a firm, disgusting thing, with bulging veins and a scaled ridgeback–base. It was a monster's cock, and it was about to ravage her chastity. Emma wanted to cry out, but she didn't. She wouldn't give this monster the satisfaction of her screams, her wails, her begging. No, she would be a dry fuck, for the pleasure of her demon's delight, and nothing more.

The monster positioned its bulbous head, and with one tearing thrust, ripped up her vagina and forced his cock inside her. She felt blood ooze from the infiltration and tears stemmed from the cracks behind her eyes, but Emma remained silent nevertheless. She fixated her proud gaze on the sinister edge of the makeshift shiv and prepared herself for the monster's attack. He shoved into her repeatedly, and to Emma's horror her traitorous body started salivating to welcome easier gyrations. Disgusting, terrible sounds started emerging from their beastly coupling. Slapping, squirting, panting sounds, that echoed in the small workspace, and raptured in the radiance of their sex and heat. During their sinful pleasure, Emma braced herself against his cock, feeling its noxious head rub against her womb, and lifted her elbow enough to reach out her hand and grasp the glass shard, hiding it underneath her belly. As the monster's thrusts became more desperate, she felt the crescendo of her own orgasm breech the fortifications of her mind, and against her will, Emma cried out in pleasure as she felt herself cum over his cock and pool between their legs. The monster growled and gave a few more sharp thrusts before the head of his cock plunged through her womb and erupted its seed deep in her fertile walls.

Feeling heavy and sated, the demon laid on her a minute before slowly pulling out of her tattered womanhood. Disgusting sounds trailed the retreat of his cock, and Emma felt the slime of his spunk draining down her legs and pooling between her thighs. A few tears drained with the remnants of his semen, but Emma saved face in spite of her subjugated reality. She knew what she had to do, and when the monster finally lifted his weight from he back, she flipped over and brandished the glass shard as she dug it into the heart of her rapist. Blood poured from the wound she inflicted, but no sound was uttered save her own exhausted grunts.

She heard ominous giggling, and surprised she felt a strong hand clamp around her own, forcing the shiv from her grasp. "Sorry love, it doesn't work that way."

"No, No––!" She cursed, and using the last of her strength, pulled down a nearby kettle, something that under normal circumstances would be considered a treasure, and smashed his head in with it. The teapot shattered, and the monster grunted in annoyance, but it gave her the needed distraction to wrench her hand from his grasp and trip over his body for a dodgy escape. Emma wasted no time, and using the momentum from her limp form, shoved the wardrobe away from the entrance, and slipped passed the curtain.

Emma saw the front door, and struggled toward the exodus of this Hell. She felt wind at her heels and was nearly passed its threshold when an ominous force snagged her feet and slammed her into the floor. Picking herself up, she turned wide eyes to the darkened shadow that stretched across the wooden floor, cast by the moonlight's glow. His eyes were swirls of gold, and his steps where like knives, slicing into her soul with every heartbeat. Death was only a few feet away, and closing in with every stride; Emma couldn't help but utter her final reprieve to this nightmare––A last request before this demon carved out her heart and devour it like it did the flesh from her body.

"Wh––Who are you?"

The lion approached the lamb, but stopped inches away from her quivering mass. His leather–clad body once again masked in regal terror, the demon was frightening, but his eyes were solemn. The burning gaze of molten gold had decimated to a flickering ember of polished bronze, but Emma didn't have words for what she saw in those eyes. When a small eternity passed, her adversary finally spoke.

"It's all about power. Grabbing it, keeping it, using it. Power is my currency, my DNA, my God. I control the world, provide the blueprint, and I give the instructions. I'm the person in grainy photos, on grassy knolls, with the shadowy face in smoky backrooms and darkened boardrooms. I'm right here, hiding in plain sight, buying and selling favors. Blackmail, treason, deceit––These are my stalk in trade. I work the magic of the drunken evenings of senators and chiefs of staff. I shake down demons and negotiate with sorcerers. I have stalks in Hell, and compromising photos of Angels. I use any means necessary, regardless of the cost, because the world is a bad place. And you can either _do_, or get _done_."

Pausing, the demon crouched down to her level, and added,

"I am Rumpelstiltskin, and I am _not_ _done_."

He seized her face again and pulled her chin to meet his lips, catching her in a fiery kiss of domination and subjugation. Emma felt the world in that kiss, all the pain, torture, and evil that had spread through the centuries like a vile poison coursing the body. And Emma, in all her darkest inhibitions… Had enjoyed it.

When their lips finally parted, she felt blackness opaque her vision, and the grateful embrace of catalepsy drown her descent into darkness.


End file.
